The Gift and other stories
by Bibbi
Summary: When Aenwyn ascends she leaves a parting gift to her friends. Whether they want it or not. Random other snippets from Aenwyn's journeys...
1. The Gift

Aenwyn looked at her companions with what she would have called fondness during her mortal life. Now such emotions came slowly to her, as if through a veil, and she began to look on her friends as from an outsider's eye. The glow of the solar behind her warmed her and cast her thoughts to future journeys throughout the planes. In front of her seven people huddled in the darkness of the mortal world.

As soon as she had defeated Amelyssan and accepted her father's divinity, Bhaal's Throne had faded and all involved had found themselves back near Amkethran. Aenwyn knew that she needed to begin her new responsibilities soon, but the quickly fleeing human emotions still had a sense of duty attached to her friends. She would give them gifts to thank them for helping her reach this moment.

Her new insight into the multiverse pierced the layers of reality surrounding the companions; Aenwyn saw their lives connecting to her own life thread and the endless possibilities each could have taken along the journey.

She saw Imoen, the only living former Bhaalspawn in the world, in her time at Spellhold. She saw the girl succumb to Irenicus' tortures and accept the Bhaaltaint. Saw herself and companions arrive to what they thought was a rescue only to fight for their lives against an incarnation of the dead god of murder. And the inevitable death which captured all in its wake.

But she also saw Imoen as the happy girl she once was. Maybe not quite so happy as before escaping Candlekeep's walls, but recovered from her time on the road and living a good life. Much magic was at her command and she would not have to fear anyone ever again.

Aenwyn saw Jaheira turn her back on former friends and fight at her side; she saw the druid fall into Harper captivity in a chance to clear her name. Jaheira laughing with Khalid and sitting alone in the wilderness, looking at the horizon.

The new goddess saw this in each of her companions, the good and evil each could commit or endure. Anomen, giving into his anger and leaving a trail of blood in his berserk fury. Anomen, resisting and following his dreams of knighthood. Viconia betraying her friends to the drow for false security. Aerie invoking ancient magic and gaining the flight she so longed for, only to lose her body and take that of a bird. Valygar accepting his heritage and finding love and a family. Haer'Dalis laughing in the wake of the Ravager, only to be cut down by that he worshipped.

Everything and nothing was possible, had happened. Aenwyn did not have the power to alter their lives, not yet at any rate, but she could see the myriad paths each could take.

And so a gift. She would give them gifts to prevent the worst fates from happening and aim for the better endings. Shouldn't they live happily ever after once her battles were over? Gifts befitting friends of a goddess.

"Imoen." Her voice, like everything else about her, had changed so that now it rang out like a song against the desert air. She floated toward her sister. "You have suffered much through our shared heritage. You still bear many scars, outside and in. You do not deserve such pain. I cannot change the past, but I can erase its damage to you."

Imoen shrieked as light swallowed her body and wracked her with convulsions. Aenwyn had already moved on to Jaheira.

"Nothing need be said other than I am sorry for the pain I caused since we met. But that is over, now." A man stepped out from behind her and embraced Jaheira, murmuring into her hair.

"K-Khalid?" Jaheira stiffened in her husband's embrace, not quite believing her senses and torn between bliss and devastation. "Are you real? You cannot leave me again, I would go mad!"

Aerie almost stepped back from the goddess' approach but managed to hold her ground. 

"You, too, have lost much, though that was not my doing. However, I can still reverse the damage." As Aenwyn floated away Aerie gave a gasp of surprise. Two beautiful white wings had appeared on her back.

"Valygar, you and I share the problem of tainted heritage, although I was fortunate in how mine resolved. I can give you the release from family shackles and take away all that made you a Corthala. Your blood is cleansed of all magic."

There was no visible effect to the ranger but he closed his eyes to steady himself as she passed.

"Anomen and Viconia, both servants to the gods throughout your service to me. Yet now I have need to service. Anomen, you shall be my first priest, to spread my faith across the land. Viconia, I would give you that same status, but I have already begun to feel both Lolth and Shar's eyes watching this. As soon as I leave you shall be in danger, and I am not strong enough to fight such old enemies. Instead, I can free you from these fears forever. I can sever your link to the divine and prevent any god's eyes from tracing you. You will finally be free from the Spiderwebs or the all-consuming darkness."

Both priests glowed, Anomen a bright burst of light similar to the halo around Aenwyn, and Viconia a deep shade of purple which quickly vanished and left the air around her heavy and dead.

Aenwyn floated before the final mortal. "I had thought long on what to give you, Haer'Dalis, for what can I give one who takes delight in all things? I think for one who knows the planes so well, you should be given True Insight into the nature of things. I think you will be surprised to learn the little I have seen since my ascension." She leaned down and whispered in his ear. Light flowed from her mouth to him and lingered in his eyes and she finished.

And then she was gone. She had said her goodbyes before shedding her mortality and had nothing else to say. Doubtless she would hear from Anomen as her priest, and if she remembered she would look in to her former friends' lives out of curiosity. But now there were the planes to see.

Valygar was the first to react to her departure. "She…she took the magic from me." Relief flooded his features before a shadow crossed his face. "She took everything, every last drop of magic. I carry nothing in me now."

As he reflected on this he saw Jaheira sobbing into Khalid's shoulder, gripping him as if he would disappear at any moment. Nearby, Aerie flexed her wings and gave a test jump. The wings seemed to be tense, still, and the avariel had trouble getting off the ground.

"She spoke truly, did she?" Haer'Dalis' voice was weak and when Valygar looked, the tiefling was pale and sweating. "There is no entropy, no decay. Before she flew, the raven told me…showed me that the Doomguard has it wrong. But if the multiverse doesn't end…" He stared off into space, trembling slightly.

Anomen and Viconia closed their eyes and reached out for their respective gods. Both reacted similarly. 

"I can't feel Helm anymore!" Anomen shouted as Viconia bemoaned her severance from Shar.

"Fool, at least you still have a god to pray to. That bitch took any connection I had. I have nothing now!" She ran off from the group, hurling curses and insults as she disappeared.

To one side, Imoen sat staring wide-eyed at the spectacle before her. Her hair had reverted to its natural brown and all scars had faded from sight. "Who are all you people?" she asked. "And where's Aenwyn?"


	2. How they Met

Anomen's first experience with Aenwyn was across the smoky common room of the Copper Coronet, where he worked on his fourth cup that afternoon. A commotion roused his attention from the main entrance in time for him to see two people stagger through the crowd and collapse at the bar. Both appeared filthy and bore signs of battle; matted hair and dried blood became second skin. Even from his distance Anomen could tell there was something off about the pair. A sense of unease when the eye lingered on them for too long, a prickling of hair which increased as you neared. Yet approach he did, an act he would later confess complete confusion toward; he could claim his instincts as a priest moved him to tend the less fortunate, though there most in the Coronet had fallen on bad times and his eye grazed over their heads without a second thought.

No, he couldn't say how or why he came to stand behind Aenwyn, only that his life would alter forever once she turned and he found himself locked into black pools staring out of an impassionate pale face. Those pits took in all light without reflecting anything back and for a moment Anomen felt a chill squeeze his chest.

The man standing beside Aenwyn, forgotten, made a move and Anomen's gaze was broken. Next to Aenwyn the man was almost normal, despite the pointed ears and blue hair. "We seek no trouble, noble hound," the man intoned; his voice echoed in Anomen's head, sounding a distant whisper next to his ear. "Two poor travellers can surely go unnoticed in such a place, yes?"

"I came to see if you are all right. I am a priest, perhaps I can help." Anomen kept his eyes on the man, fearing to look back at the woman. His words were for the woman, however, as were his questions and thoughts. "You look in need of assistance."

"Come." It was a command, spoken so coolly that they could have known each other intimately. Or else had the tone of master to servant, without a doubt of authority. More likely the latter, though already Anomen felt she knew more about him than he would care to admit.

She walked up the stairs and he followed, the man trailing them as they entered the nicest suite the inn had to give, consisting of several beds and a tin bath, with a window opening to the squalor of the slums surrounding them.

It was in this room that Anomen learned her name, learned that of her companion, the swordsman Haer'Dalis, and how they had come to this place. Tales of an escape from a mad wizard's lab sounded more likely stolen from a storybook, but evidence of trauma and struggle was clear enough on both of their faces, not to speak of their bodies. Neither said why they had been captured by the wizard in the first place, though judging from their appearances Anomen didn't doubt that many magic users would be interested in studying the pair. All that he could learn from them was that they had found each other in captivity and made their way to the city, although they weren't certain how long before the wizard returned to find them.

Anomen returned to the bar to think over this news while the former prisoners washed away captivity. If he could believe their tale, then there was a potentially dangerous mage on the loose in the city. The city guard should be alerted or the Cowled Wizards; he considered going to the Order of the Most Radiant Heart to report on this but decided more to obtain more information before alerting too many ears to such tales. His new friends' story could be just that: a story. It certainly held elements of the melodramatic to it. And neither of them was eager to explain why they were held captive in the first place. Too much mystery and half-truths surrounded the pair for him to place any reliability in them; he would have to accompany them to discover more.

He was still under surveillance by the Order, a probationary period until full membership. Echoes of his drunken father rippled through him despite his best efforts, so that nothing he did in the name of Right and Justice came out untainted. It was all show, all to prove himself Good in their eyes. None of his actions were altruistic, it seemed; his indelible legacy returning day after night after day. Memories of passion and rage within the narrow confines of peace and order bubbled up unwillingly and he suppressed them with a deep swallow from his cup.

Anomen ignored the small voice inside that laughed as the drink flowed in. Her eyes were behind that laugh, resonating within the dark corners of his mind. He finished and ordered another drink to drown out the laughter. But the eyes remained.

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Aerie put the pen down and rubbed her eyes. The candle light was barely enough to read by and if she made a mistake in the books there would be hell to pay. It was late enough, at any rate, and she could finish in the morning before her chores. She always liked to wake up before dawn and watch the sun rise; it reminded her of home, before the circus, and it was the one time during the day she could be alone with her thoughts. Except for at night, when the darkness took her thoughts on dark paths she'd rather not examine in the day's light.

Her back ached as she lay on her cot but it was an old pain, so that she would have found it strange had it been absent; two lumps pressed into the scratchy sheet to ensure she never forgot. Not that she would. Or could. Perhaps her dreams would be kind tonight, perhaps she wouldn't dream of flying. That wasn't likely, though. Open skies taunted most nights, achingly beautiful until faced with the drudgery of waking life. Still, in that predawn glow Aerie could almost imagine herself with restored wings soaring away from all this trouble, away from the pain and hurt of living on the ground amidst these slaves and monsters. Someday she would find a way; she promised herself this every night as the lumps dug into her bed.

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Haer'Dalis stood within a cage, the bars tangible darkness harder than any iron. It seemed he was always to remain a prisoner; fitting, given that life was a cage which no one could escape, least of all he. Black blood roiled on the surface of the bars and he could almost see his raven's dark eyes staring out at him.

For raven was what he decided Aenwyn was; while the noble hound baying at their heels tried to follow his false ideals the strange woman tread her own path and did not shy away from death. Here was one who caused chaos wherever she went. Normally he would embrace such entropy, but now the bars closed around him and threatened to blanket him with darkness, a darkness he would not emerge from. He was not certain he was ready to abandon all hope of colour and vibrancy yet. But would he have a choice when the time came?

The raven pulled all in her wake, willing or no, and he had never been one to resist the lure of power.

His breath struggled out of squeezed lungs as the bars drew closer and closer. Blood sizzled and spit from their perch and his own blood throbbed in response. Soon their bloods would mingle and then the real test would begin.   
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A dark form walked quickly through the crowd trying hard not to look back at the crowd forming. A deep cowl covered much of its face and long gloves extended into the cloak. An errant breeze tugged at a lock of pure white hair which had escaped the confines of the hood.

Drow. Enemy. Murderer.

Words the hooded form had become accustomed to since arriving on the surface. Nowhere a friendly face despite desperate situations, no hope of a night spent sleeping soundly instead of waking fitfully at the slightest sound. Escape from the drow world had been dangerous enough but surviving on the surface had turned out to be the greater challenge. How could such a people claim such hatred of those below when there was just as much pain and cruelty amongst surface-dwellers? The stars in the terrible empty sky made more sense than these people, yet there was no choice but to take them as constant neighbours.

The figure reflected that one can truly be more alone in a crowd than when by oneself. It had never felt the agony of despair more than when first gazing upon the blinding sun.

The sun's beams dazzled now as the drow pushed past people. It had wanted to buy some provisions before retreating to the city outskirts but pickpockets had taken its money, leaving it with no other option than to mimic and hide its goods within the cloak's expansive folds.

A rough hand clamped down on a gloved wrist while an equally rough voice shouted thief! and guards! More jostling took place, during which the hood, the final refuge and tenuous safety in a foreign world, tumbled down and betrayed the drow.

Drow! Enemy! Murderer!

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Valygar breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh air after so many months in the city's claustrophobic confines. His summer cabin had seen better days but repairs would give him something to do while he waited out his pursuers. He could only hope that this area was secluded enough to evade the wizards' probing eyes; their reach was long but not ubiquitous.

The ranger had never wanted anything to do with those foul wizards, had evaded their influence throughout his life. But now they were forcing this standoff which left him alone in the furthest reaches of the country, surrounded by dark woods on all sides. A fitting place for one of his family.

He was better off alone, he reasoned. No need to place others in danger because of his…heritage. His only regret was that he couldn't eliminate the last surviving member before his own lonely death; death would be welcome if his ancestor and his damnable sphere would leave forever. No hope of that now that the wizards were after him, though.

He smirked at his fatalistic turn of mind. Ironically, this could be a chance to end everything, he thought. Use the wizards to confront Lavok and then…and then? Death was not something to run to even with his history, but life wasn't something he had any particular fondness for, either.

One step at a time. Figure out how to return to the city and the sphere before capture by the wizards and once that task was accomplished there would be time to worry over the future. Plenty of time to plan when there was no soul within miles. Valygar suppressed the loneliness with surprise; it had been some time since he had allowed himself to even acknowledge its presence. Solitude had become a companion to him when there was no one else. Why should he now begrudge its presence?

Rain pelted the windows of the cabin as the light dimmed and evening set in. The first of many nights for Valygar Corthala to be alone with his thoughts.


	3. Different kind of company

Xan looks around the camp, heart heavy as he sizes up his fellow travellers. They had all faced pain and trouble before arriving here to chase their muddled goal. Save the Sword Coast from bandits. Or something to that effect. Now the land is saved, the heroes won, bad guys defeated. If only they had been the ones to do this.

It's funny, he thinks, the pride of serving his beloved city seemed like enough when he set out but now he sees how empty a lie it was. The safety and isolation of the elves once was the natural order of things; the elder race needed to protect its weakening power from the lesser peoples encroaching every year. But Xan understands now that they have merely trapped themselves, prisoners in their beautiful, empty cities. They are no longer part of the world and no one misses them. Yes, there is surprise and initial delight when encountering the rare elf outside of his land, but that wears out once the arrogance and disconnection surfaces. Elves have no place in the world anymore and neither does Xan.

He does not know where to go from here but he knows it will be far away. He has not spoken of such but he believes Kivan understands this. Kivan, who lost everything including his chance for vengeance, and now is more shell than person. They had come to the bandit camp only to find the famed 'Heroes of the Sword Coast' had already been there. No sign of Tazok until news of the corrupt Iron Throne in Baldur's Gate and its connection to the bandit activity. And even then, they had only discovered that the half-ogre leader of the bandits had been killed along with most of the leaders involved in the conspiracy. So now Kivan sits and meditates and Xan feels empathy for the hollowness which cloaks his fellow elf.

Sudden movement to his right causes him to gaze over at Shar-Teel. Whereas the elves are vessels of emptiness the woman's large frame houses rage and hate, suffering and confusion. She has not spoken much to anyone save the priestess yet her haunted eyes and too-eager sword strikes betray something of her past. She claims to hate men and sneers at any act of selflessness yet Xan has seen her eye the paladin when she thinks no one is looking, and he can't decide whether it is a look of wistfulness or hopelessness. She has fought alongside the holy warrior for some time now and muttered a gruff word of praise every now and then, though this has not stayed her hand for mercy when the chance arises.

She is a slave to her hate, however, and she knows she will never be anything but a broken woman to the paladin. She will wander the coast, perhaps with Branwen, perhaps alone, but she has made it clear that she wants no more to do with men, especially weakling paladins.

Perhaps it is because when she looks over at Ajantis she also sees Garrick; the young bard laughing with the older man and spending much of the travel time regaling the warrior with his plethora of songs and legends. Ajantis travels south to become Sir Ajantis and the bard, known secretly by the others as Squire Garrick, follows. The two have become inseparable since this unlikely group banded together and everyone, not least of all Shar-Teel, has noted this. Xan thinks it might be their relative innocence which attracts them to each other; through the countless battles and disappointments on the road Ajantis and Garrick have managed to remain optimistic; he almost envies them their self-deception.

The last member of this fellowship remains a mystery to him. Branwen's fate of stone is more appropriate than Tranzig could have known. As the only women in the group it is not entirely surprising that she and Shar-Teel have formed a bond, yet this bond excludes the remainder to the point that despite weeks on the road together Xan has learned little of the northern woman other than her devotion to Tempus. He can respect her, for a human, as her dedication is pure and honest. There is no deceit in Branwen's eyes nor in her deeds; there is little enough of that these days. He almost feels a wish to have gotten to know her better before they divided ways but then he thinks to his people's self-imposed isolation and knows such a friendship would be doomed to failure from the start. Better to save any such effort for something with a shred of hope.

Kivan stands and as if waiting for some signal the others stir from their seats and ready their packs for travel. They have traversed the length of the coast, searched forests, ruins, cities for bandits and reason behind madness, only to have it taken away from them. They have done some good, Xan reflects, but it is not they who claim the title of Hero. He wonders what has happened to the group of adventurers whom he met so briefly in the Nashkel mines and who have since disappeared from all public knowledge. Rumours remain, of course, but then rumours always would. He can't believe tales of dead gods and mysterious kidnappings; another sign that his sense of reason and logic is wasted on this world which has turned its back on him. Or had he turned his back first?

"It is time, my friend." Strange that it is the normally taciturn ranger who breaks the silence which has lingered over the group since their departure from Baldur's Gate. He has agreed to travel with Xan to Evereska, at least for a short time, before deciding his fate. Ajantis is eager to find his way through Amn, and as ever Garrick remains a close shadow. Branwen and Shar-Teel are to head east, if only because it is not north or south. A weight settles in Xan's chest and for a moment he is confused by this odd turn of emotion. Surely he can't be reluctant to leave these humans? It has been an interesting few weeks but he has always had Evereska in his mind; he has been looking forward to a return almost since he left.

No, as he looks to Kivan, already walking down the path, he knows that he cannot have a place here. These people are the future, he is the past. And he is meant to be alone, anyway.

He does allow himself one look backward as he catches up to Kivan but his former…companions? friends? have begun their own journeys and look to the paths ahead. Xan can already feel himself start to fade as he blends into the shadows of the forest road.


	4. Darkness in magic

They had taken several days to clean the sphere after Lavok's unexpected death. There were any number of interesting artifacts and devices from across the planes, which Haer'Dalis had volunteered to inventory; Anomen kept a close eye on the examinations, ready to cleanse any tainted object with Helm's grace. Aenwyn wandered the halls searching for any remaining threats in the shadows, convinced of the darkness behind every door.

While the last remaining Corthala had no intention of maintaining or even keeping the planar sphere, he had acknowledged its temporary use as a makeshift base. And this gave him time to investigate the holdings of one of his long-lost ancestors in an effort to discover more of the Corthala curse.

Though "curse" was beginning to seem like the wrong title. Valygar shook his head as he leafed through a stack of journals and letters. The ancient necromancer's revelations had left him doubting everything he had learned growing up. He glanced over at the other occupant of the room, Aerie. She, too, cast doubt on his previously iron-clad beliefs of the evils of magic and its corrupting power. The young elf was a model of purity and innocence, and if anyone could refute his bitter claims it was she.

But then there was Solaufein to counteract anything Aerie could produce. The warrior-sorcerer claimed to have renounced his dark culture but he had done nothing to earn Valygar's trust yet. A voice at the back of his mind reminded him of Lavok and the second chance he had deserved before his death. Drow deserve no mercy, Valygar responded, but the excuse was weak and he quickly dropped the line of thinking.

Aerie's shriek cut through his brooding. The shriek was one of delight rather than his initial thought of fear, however, and she brought a scroll over to him.

"It's a scroll of flying! N-not a normal one, either, but it looks powerful!" Valygar hadn't seen such a look of delight on the woman's face since he had met her, not even during her talks with Haer'Dalis. A weight settled in his stomach. He immediately thought of their encounter with the Red Wizard and his—er, her—precious scroll.

"I wouldn't trust anything in this place, Aerie," he began, but he could tell his words had no effect on her.

"I'm sure it's safe, Valygar, not all magic is evil." She gestured to the surrounding sphere even as her eyes remained glued to the parchment. "Excuse me, won't you? I need to study alone." She flew off without awaiting an answer, leaving Valygar to sigh in the empty room.

"Lavok has left one left surprise for us, it seems."

* * *

Solaufein can see threads of magic building around Valygar, especially since their relocation to the sphere, but he knows he shouldn't say anything. Not yet. One of the things about being from the dark is that people often forget you're there, and he has heard many things. He has heard the arguments between the other-worlder and the wounded sister-of-the-sky; he has heard the knightling speak his bleeding heart to an uncaring demigod; he knows the rumours of the dark man's family and the curse which channels through his blood. Solaufein hasn't been in this world of blinding light for long but he knows enough to keep silent. Even if one of them had asked for his advice (which no one has, although the other-worlder demands story after story of the Underdark) they wouldn't want to acknowledge what he has been witness to.

None of them truly want a drow's opinion. He can't decide whether he is meant to atone for his race or justify his existence; even with these outcasts who feel like safety for the first time in ages he cannot relax his guard. There is that moment of wary surprise when they bump into him in the sphere's hallways covered quickly with a mask of indifference or forced camaraderie. Except the demigod, of course. She looks at him with the same deadness as she does with anything before her. He hasn't told anyone he knows her heritage yet; they all think he hasn't a clue but he could tell the first time he saw her for what she was. Murder in the bones. Just as the dark man has magic stamped into his essence. There's no denying what's buried deep within.

An image of spiders crosses his mind at this thought and he shivers. He has made his way to the sphere entrance and closes his eyes to feel the cold moonlight from the portal. The drow slips away each night to pay respect to the cold maiden which enflames his heart more than the cursed sun can ever burn his skin. The enclosing walls of the sphere remind him too much of his old home, as do the reaching shadows.

To his surprise, there is another watching the moon tonight. "There is no moon in Sigil," the blue-haired man says. "I think 'tis one of the few things I would miss about this plane." His voice is soft and gentle, so unlike his normal brash tenor, and Solaufein wonders at the almost vulnerable aspect to it. His goddess reveals many things, it seems.

"It was not often I could escape to the surface to behold the Pale Maiden, but every time she took my breath away. She is no less precious now that I can see her nightly."

"Aye, you have the right of it, nightingale. Few are the treasures as precious as those not possessed. Each time I see one of your night skies my heart aches with wonder."

He wonders after this name and had asked once but the bard had merely laughed and replied "You must admit your mournful words have oft held our ears in thrall, singer-in-the-night."

The drow feels a slow blush come to his cheeks. He realizes he has been keeping a close eye on the wrong companions. Danger comes in many forms and Haer'Dalis' is one of the deadliest.


	5. A Fall into the Planes

"You bring me to a brothel, fiendling? For a moment I had held some hope that you were not as stupid as the rest of our former companions, but surfacers have proven disappointing again."

Haer'Dalis laughed lightly. "Do not be so hasty, dark dancer. You stand before no ordinary brothel; this is the Brothel of Slaking Intellectual Lusts. I believe someone of your temperament may benefit from such an establishment. Many are the times I have enjoyed companionship here, and 'tis not the first time I have envisioned you gracing it with your presence."

Viconia merely raised an eyebrow.

"Hear me out, dancer. This brothel caters to the mind rather than the body. Sensates come here for training, to better understand their abilities and the planes around them. Can you deny the urge to experience all the multiverse can offer? The Prime is no place for one such as you; boredom dogs your every step. Only in the greatest city in all the planes can you begin to understand the meaning of contentment. And Mistress Grace knows the method."

"What is your point?" the woman demanded. "You are wise to understand my superiority to those who would as soon kill me on sight as take me for their own. Do you claim my life would be any different here?" Her violet eyes flicked across the surrounding streets; her words lacked their normal fire as curiosity threatened to overwhelm her. Fiends and devas passed each other with barely a snarl. Perhaps indeed there was place for one such as her.

"I see Sigil's lure has ensnared you as sure as any hunter's bait. None can resist, Viconia, not even a queen of ice and darkness such as yourself. Shall we enter and determine if there is a place for you within?"

The foyer was canopied in silk and pillows littered both sofa and floor. Patrons wandered the corridors in the distance but Viconia's attention went immediately to the unearthly beautiful succubus with shyly clasped hands. An aura of peace surrounded the fiend and Viconia ignored her instincts to attack, preferring to learn more of this woman.

"I had not expected to see you again, Haer'Dalis. I had heard you gone to the Prime." The woman's voice was melodious and graceful and Viconia found herself warming to her; it was a struggle to keep her stance neutral.

The tiefling bowed, his normal cocky grin present. "The Prime holds no sway over your smile, Mistress Grace. You are the entropy which seeks to unmake me and I embrace it readily."

Grace permitted a smile which did not quite reach her eyes, though her tone was amused. "Few have the skill to bring a spark of happiness these days, but I can always count on you, sparrow. Please, let us play these games no more and tell me what I can do for you and your friend." She nodded at Viconia and the drow flushed slightly, glad her skin concealed such weakness.

"Ah, ever the serious one, my infernal temptress. You speak the right of it, though. I had thought to seek shelter for a soul unjustly persecuted in her cruel mockery of a home." He gestured to his companion. "Lady Viconia has but recently escaped the trials of a war between god-children and seeks a new life away from such troubles. I was only too happy to provide such an opportunity. Your miraculous business was the first place I thought of to house such an ebony goddess."

He was about to go on when Grace raised a hand. As if rebuked, Haer'Dalis fell silent, though his smile remained. "Dear one, I see the pain you have travelled through to come here. It is one I am well acquainted with, as are most that dwell here. I cannot deny any such asylum, though I will not force you to enter into employment unless such is your wish. Perhaps you would enjoy a tour of the premises before committing to such a lifestyle. Nordom!" The succubus clapped and a modron fluttered into the room, gears and cogs whirling and spluttering. "Please show the Lady Viconia around our home."

"Affirmative." Viconia allowed herself to be led by the strange creature further into the hall, taking one last glance at the winged woman.

Haer'Dalis waved a farewell and called a promise to visit soon. Watching Fall-from-Grace as he left, he vowed that if nothing else were true, he would indeed return to the brothel soon…and as often as possible.


	6. Darkness in thoughts

Valygar can't decide whether to smirk or grimace as he watches the couple across the table. Haer'Dalis adopts a bland air to cover the flash of shock and—hurt?—which accompanies the retreating hand to his own seat. Aerie doesn't even notice as she continues to read her scroll, fork pushing food around the plate while everyone else has finished. The elf never possessed a large appetite but now the food rarely makes it to her lips.

Valygar doesn't know the girl that well but he knows the clench of his stomach; all too well does he recognise the beginning signs of obsession. His mother, when she ate at the table at all, would study her books and scrolls just as the elf did now. His father had learned long ago not to bother his wife, as Haer'Dalis was just now learning. The tiefling's face has given up on its bland expression and engages a suitable replacement for attention; Solaufein listens politely to whatever chatter the bard produces without glancing at the girl across the table, though Valygar senses the violet eyes' urge to stare. Doubtless the drow has been witness to worse than obsession in his lost homeland.

They're none of them strangers to pain, though, so it isn't worth worrying over the past. They can only try and prevent recurrences now. Which is why Valygar has settled on the grimace.

And now Aerie's food is cold.

He turns to listen to Anomen's story about his and Aenwyn's journey into town. The Sphere is shelter to them, their own private world. It makes a certain sense, even with Valygar's distaste for the reminder of his family's dubious talents; only in such an exotic location can such a group truly belong. He wonders whether any of them will ever have something resembling a normal life. Anomen could, he supposes, yet the way the young knight follows Aenwyn around, despite the darkness which threatens constantly to engulf her, suggests that there is more than a little oddness beneath the gleaming armour.

Sometimes Valygar wonders how he has managed to remain in such company for so long; caught between the otherworldliness of the tiefling and drow, to say nothing of Aenwyn's heritage, and the quickly vanishing innocence of the young clerics. But then he thinks back to the weeks in his cabin hiding from the wizards, hoping and dreading for someone to walk in the door and end his wait one way or another. Solitude is the best way to learn about oneself, but then there was a lot Valygar could have left unlearned.

So for now he ignored the warning signs in Aerie's obsession, in Aenwyn's haunted eyes, in the mere presence of the drow and tiefling. Things will get worse, but anything is better than solitude.

* * *

Anomen—Sir Anomen—enters the sphere alone. He had wanted Aenwyn, or really anyone, to accompany him to his knighting but he understands the restrictive schedule of his companions. Everyone has their own tasks to perform and it had been an effort for him to even take time off from his duties to spend the day at the Order's headquarters. In an uncharacteristic mood, Aenwyn had allowed him a free day to attend to his business and he had taken the opportunity before the woman changed her mind.

For what seems like the tenth time that day Anomen wonders what Aenwyn thinks of. There is no sign of recognition for his words when he describes the ceremony yet she never tells him to stop. So he continues.

He knows that she has travelled farther than he and been through more, despite his excursions with the Order, but all attempts to learn her past have gone unheeded and he needs to fill the awkward emptiness with some kind of conversation. Monologue. He also knows that the others laugh when they think he isn't listening. Trying to woo the daughter of a god. Sticking his nose where it's unwanted. But he's used to that with his father and later with the other squires. He's learned to ignore it. He has not become a knight of the Order by giving in to the laughter of others.

In the haste of preparing for his test he has barely noticed his companions; their presence was but background noise in the dimness which is the sphere. Even the tang of magic on the air and vibrations throughout the metal walls hadn't been enough to deter him from his course. It is not until Aenwyn walks away and he seeks out the others that he sees firsthand the blossoming trouble which had been so long in the making.

It is more than a knight of the Order could be expected to handle, though he will try his best. Shining armor isn't just for show.

Aerie floats several feet above the ground, hair flowing without a breeze. Haer'Dalis and Soulafein stand by, staring with unabashed awe and wonder. Blue eyes have turned hard and dark; clouds obscure what were once clear skies. Grim glances from Valygar, up till now assumed to be freely given to any in his path, and concerned looks from the drow, crocodile tears though they may be, cohere in his mind; he understands now the power of hindsight. But then, could he have done anything in any event?

While he stands helpless the others reach out to the elf, coaxing words to clips the bird's wings. Before the dove becomes a hawk. Tense minutes pass before Aerie's eyes clear and she lowers to the ground. Slight movement alerts Anomen's attention and he sees Valygar sheathe his katana in the shadows behind him. He releases a breath he did not remember taking.

His first test as a knight and he just stood there.

* * *

Aenwyn's step catches his attention and he looks up from his prayers. She stands with her head cocked, sword dripping blood onto the metal floor. "Are you prepared?" Her tone is emotionless as always yet there is a grin on her face. Beneath the splatter of blood.

"I have waited for this moment with dread." He stops himself from saying 'my Lady' in time. His mace is heavy in hand as it swings through the air and she is able to dodge it easily. Divine reflexes. He forgot.

Pain as her stained sword slices his leg flashes in his head. Anomen staggers to the hall, knowing he cannot win this fight alone. Perhaps there is still someone alive to come to his aid; if he can find them in time…

But four pairs of clouded eyes stare in broken lines across the room. Here the blood covers everything. He has never seen so much and yet it keeps pouring out of their crumpled forms as if some endless fountain. Anomen realizes that none of them are dead; she has not even allowed them release from pain in death. Something prevents them from escaping this nightmare and her hold on their souls.

"You're mine until the end." She reads his thoughts as she enters the room after him. "Did you think death would be so easy?"

He turns to face that gleam in her eye, his mace thudding to the ground. "No, but I had hope," he whispers, almost inaudibly.

Aenwyn sneers. "That's what I hate about you most, priest. Your foolish grasp on hope. We are all damned on this path and there is nothing your god can do to change that." She lifts a bloody finger and beckons. His steps are slow and uncertain but he manages not to slip on the slickness as he reaches her. Her hands are as claws, tearing at his neck and shoulder as she bites his mouth in a mockery of lust; blood mixes with saliva and moans become snarls. "You are mine forever, lover."

The words echo as Anomen jolts out of bed in a cold sweat. He gathers his bearings before realising he is not alone in his room. By the doorway, Aenwyn leans against the doorframe and watches him, a faint grin etched on her harsh features. Then, before he can say anything she disappears into the darkness of the hallway and he collapses back into bed.


End file.
